


Capgras

by draculard



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous Identity, Aunt-Niece Relationship, F/M, Parent/Child Incest, shape-shifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 16:33:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18102278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: While Draco is away at Hogwarts, Narcissa finds a new way to satisfy her needs.





	Capgras

It isn’t what it looks like.

The pale-haired boy with his head between Narcissa’s legs isn’t Draco. His pale, pinched face is not her son’s. His narrow frame, unmarred by puberty, could fool anyone familiar with him, even his mother. The grey eyes flick up to her — her own eyes, her son’s eyes, staring back at her. 

But it isn’t Draco. She must remember that.

His tongue dips inside her and Narcissa’s back arches. Her son’s fingers, long and nimble with a wand, draw circles on her inner thigh. His shirt-front is unbuttoned, his pale, hairless chest showing through. She wants to kiss him, wants to hear him gasp in ways he never has before. Narcissa can give him a world of love he’s never experienced with any foolish Hogwarts girl.

He finds her clit and presses down with that clever tongue; electricity sparks up Narcissa’s spine, leaving her nerves tingling. She rocks her hips and Draco meets each and every thrust. It feels as though his mouth is everywhere on her, so warm, so skilled.

Unrealistically skilled, if she’s being honest. The fantasy slips away from her for a moment, and suddenly Draco’s efforts between her legs aren’t near pleasurable enough. Narcissa pulls away and Draco tries to follow her, his mouth open, lips red -- but she catches his chin and those grey eyes flick up to her again.

He awaits her orders.

“On your back,” Narcissa says. He bends away from her, young and graceful, and lays on the floor. One arm falls loosely over his stomach, the other arranged near his head. His fingers find a loose strand in the carpet and he fiddles with it. Like it’s more interesting than her, like he doesn’t feel the erection straining at the front of his silly Muggle trousers.

He must feel the sudden animosity in her, for he glances up then, mouth twisting into a delicious, cheeky smile. A crooked grin she’s seen a million times before — Draco’s smile, wholly his, something surely no one else could replicate.

Narcissa’s chest aches. She stands, robes falling the purple stain of broken blood vessels on her thighs.

“Good boy,” she murmurs. She folds herself over Draco, her knees on either side of him. Finally, he stops playing with the loose string on the carpet; his hands come up to her waist, broad and warm and gentle. His erection grinds against her, and her legs tremble as she meets him. Fire blooms first on the bruises he left when he kissed her, but the flames grow fast, spreading all through her body and into his.

She undoes the last few buttons on his shirt. A lovely shade of green -- it complements his skin tone perfectly, truly a wise purchase, and Narcissa savors it as she undresses him. She untucks the shirt, letting the silk slide against his skin, slips it away from his abdomen, from his chest, from his shoulders. His arms are still wrapped in the sleeves, but he makes no move to remove them.

Narcissa bends her neck until her lips find the pale, dusty pink of Draco’s nipple. Her hips rock against his. His eyes tighten; his smile fades. In a moment it’s replaced entirely by a gasp.

“Cissy,” he breathes. Narcissa glances up, her eyebrows raised, and after a minute, Draco winces and corrects himself. “Mother,” he says. “Please. Don’t stop.”

She knows all his most sensitive spots, has known them since he was a small child. She used to bathe him, and he’d gasp and laugh when her fingers brushed against him. But time has changed him, and his gasps are different now. Lower, huskier. He doesn’t laugh when she touches him.

She thrusts herself against her son’s cock. His face twists with pleasure at the friction and his hips stutter, hands tightening around her waist. Narcissa drags her nails down his chest, leaving pale white lines on his skin. She digs her fingers under the waistband of his trousers and goes no further, letting the light brush of her hand tease him.

They find their rhythm, so in sync they may as well be one. Narcissa has always seen so much of herself in Draco — his cadence matches hers, his sense of humor, his expressions and gestures, his obsessions, his kinks. She knows that when her pleasure strikes, when she can feel orgasm coming on, he must be feeling it, too.

“Mother,” Draco says, biting his lip.

“I know,” Narcissa says. His thrusts get more erratic, a low whine emanating from his throat. She watches his Adam’s apple bob, sweat beading on his neck. The lock of platinum hair sticking to his forehead turns a pale blue — and then, so quickly Narcissa can pretend it never happened, it turns blond again. 

Narcissa closes her eyes. The fire spreads up her body, leaving her trembling anew. The swell of Draco’s cock against her is all she can think about, all she can feel. It presses against her clit perfectly, like it was made for her to ride. Like Draco was made for her to pin to the floor, to kiss and lick and tease.

_ This isn’t what it looks like, _ she tells herself. She and Draco come at the same time, sparks erupting behind her closed eyelids, and when she looks down at him, panting and shaking on the floor, his nose has changed a little, and it doesn’t change back.

This isn’t what it looks like. 


End file.
